


Save the Wicked

by LeggoxMyxGreggo, valix33



Category: Fury (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeggoxMyxGreggo/pseuds/LeggoxMyxGreggo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valix33/pseuds/valix33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Prison AU. Norman gets taken to jail and Don recruits him as part of his crew. With psychotic prisoners and corrupt guards, he has to adapt to his new life or face death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh Meat

**Author's Note:**

> This is valix33, me and LeggoxMyxGreggo decided to write this story together. We'll be alternating chapters, so I'm starting us off. Hope you like it.

Eight years. Norman Ellison would be in prison for the next eight years. As he sat in the backseat of a police car he listened to the steady sound of traffic just outside the window. Tears were streaming quietly down his face and there was nothing he could do to stop them. His life was over.

“Second degree robbery, guilty,” the judge had said, as if taking away his future was such a casual thing. “Carjacking, guilty. Unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, guilty. Even taking into consideration that this is your first offense, I cannot ignore the evidence presented to me. I sentence you to eight years in state prison.” And his court appointed lawyer had slammed a fist on the table, caring less about his imprisonment than the loss of a paycheck. Alone on one of the benches, his mother had broken down and wept over her only child being taken to jail.

The officer up front kept glancing back at him, too uncomfortable to say anything. Norman was too distraught to make idle conversation, so the entire ride was filled with silence. His eyes drifted out the window to the cars that passed him by. Each one of them got to go home but he didn’t. A Ford, a Toyota, an Audi, his family couldn’t even afford these kinds of cars. Seriously, a fucking Mercedes?

After his spirits fell continuously for the next thirty minutes, finally the car pulled to a stop. In addition to the tears coming out his whole body was trembling with the thought that he was about to be shoved into a cell with criminals. The officer yanked him out and forced him forward toward processing. Each guard that he passed on the way started whispering, sizing him up with skepticism.

“Dead kid walking,” muttered one. “Boy won’t last ten minutes in the pod with all those psychos.” Norman knew he was young and he wasn’t much of a fighter, but people in there were imprisoned for rape and murder. The trembling got even worse with each step he took toward his death.

They stripped him down and rushed him into one of the worn out orange jumpsuits. It smelled like it hadn’t been washed in years and it was designed for someone slightly larger than he was, but it didn’t matter to the guards. When he was fully dressed he watched as they took all his things to be stored away for the next eight years. Now he was nothing more than just another prisoner. Right before they were to bring him into the pod, a redheaded guard came up to him. She was pretty and her nametag said Lt. Rittenberg.

“Hey, let’s clean you up a little,” she said. “You go in there and they see you crying, they’ll eat you alive.” Her hand wiped the tears away and brushed him off. “This sucks, I know, but you’re going to tough it out. You hear me?” He nodded and she gave him a slight smirk of reassurance.

“Enough with the motivational speech,” interrupted another lieutenant, Parker. “Let’s get him into the pod.” With one last look at Rittenberg he was dragged away and moved over to the pod. Slowly the door slid open and he took his first step inside.

Several cells lined the walls, with a small staircase leading up to a balcony holding even more cells. All around the first level were circular tables built so that all the prisoners could eat their sloppy meals twice a day. For the first five seconds he was able to just take it all in as the guards left him in there and the door sealed again. But as soon as they were gone the horde of veteran prisoners converged on him and he had nowhere to run to. Several faces started spitting out words at him from mere inches away.

“Who the fuck are you, boy?”

“You look like a bitch. You wanna be my bitch?”

“Pretty face like yours gon’ get beat in here.”

“Come over here, boy,” ordered the largest prisoner, a thoroughly scarred man with an uncomfortable smile. There was an iron cross tattoo on his neck and a handless watch tattooed on his left wrist. “What’s your name?”

“N-Norman.”

“You have trouble speaking?”

“No.” The large man put the watch tattoo right in his face.

“See this?” he asked. “Know what this means? Time don’t mean shit to me. I’m in here for life. You want to die in here?” Norman shook his head but the man spat, “Tell me you don’t want to die in here.”

“I don’t want to die in here,” repeated Norman, fighting back tears that wanted to come out. The man started stroking his cheek and the many of the other prisoners retreated, unwilling to fight for him.

“Pretty boys like you excite me. You’re going to be mine now, Norman.” Norman tried to back away but the man grabbed his shirt and took a shard of glass from his pocket.

“Hold it Cross.” One man with a chopped haircut and a dirty appearance stepped forward, three men lingering a few feet away. “I’m claiming that boy.”

“Piss off Don,” Cross hissed, more agitated than he was before. “Me and Norman were just about to become friends.” His arm wrapped around Norman’s neck and he pressed the shard into his back.

“Okay, then we’ll throw down right here and see which one gets to claim him.” The three in back started snickering and Norman thought he noticed a look of fear on Cross’ face. Don wasn’t even as big as Cross yet somehow he struck Norman as even more intimidating. He just couldn’t win today.

“You just made a big mistake,” Cross reluctantly growled, shoving Norman away. “No one steals away what I want.”

“I do.” Don’s hand clamped on the back of Norman’s neck and he was steered over to the other side of the pod.

“Fresh meat, Wardaddy?” inquired one of the lackeys. This one looked like he loved to fight and he had a nasty appearance.

“Thank you for saving me, Don,” Norman said gratefully. Don smacked him upside the head and he stopped talking.

“Fuck’s wrong with you, boy? Thirty seconds and already Cross was about to make you his bitch. I think that’s a new record. It’s rare I stick my hands into his territory but lucky for you I was feeling particularly stupid today. Here’s how it works. When I tell you to do something, you do it. You will not refer to me as Don; it’s either Wardaddy or sir. You’re a part of my crew now and you’re going to pay me back for my kindness by being useful. Do all that and I’ll try to keep that lovely man over there from deflowering you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” By this point Norman was trembling again and Don shook him for good measure.

“Cut that out, you’re like a fuckin’ Chihuahua,” he scolded. “These are the other fine gentlemen in my crew. Bible, Grady, and Gordo.” Grady was the one who’d spoken before and Bible was the nicest looking one with a parental face. Gordo was a Hispanic man that was very hard for Norman to read.

They kept him in their reach for the rest of the day, avoiding the watchful gaze of hatred from Cross. It wasn’t until late in the day that the guards came back to force everyone into their cells. Some of them actually seemed surprised that he was still in one piece, but they shook it off and put him into his cell. As it turned out the less than talkative Gordo was his cellmate and without a word he climbed into the bottom bunk and faced the wall.

“So is Gordo your real name?” Norman questioned curiously. “Or is it a nickname?”

“Don’t matter to you. Now shut up and go to sleep.” Those were the first words that Gordo had ever spoken to him and the last for the evening. As Norman lay there his emotions started to bubble to the surface and he couldn’t stop himself anymore. His hand covered his mouth so his crying wouldn’t be audible to Gordo. He just wanted to go home, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

Don plopped on his bunk, top of course, and relaxed with his hands resting behind his head. When the cell door closed, he didn’t care about anything that happened outside his cell. His eyes were focused on the carving he’d done for the ceiling, seven little stars for the seven years that he’d been in this hellhole. He did a damn good job carving them too.

“You just unleashed a shitstorm upon yourself,” came a voice from below him. Jason Binkowski, not a member of his crew but a good man nonetheless.

“You know that Cross doesn’t scare me.”

“But why that kid, you couldn’t have picked a bigger target.”

“I wanted him. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’re prepared to risk a literal war over him?”

“If Cross wants to come get me, I’ll rip out his throat.” Binkowski laughed at Don’s bravado and tapped the bottom of the top bunk.

“Wouldn’t want to piss you off,” he admitted. “That’s why Old Man Waggoner tries to stay on your good side.” Waggoner was the leader of his own crew and he’d recruited Binkowski two years ago. They were the kind of crew that kept to themselves, though Waggoner would use Binkowski for the purpose of exchanging services with Don. In this jail that was the best you could ask for.

Don Collier was a king and everyone knew it. That was why he feared nothing, he worried about nothing, and he took whatever he wanted. He would stab and strangle anyone who got in his way, because this place wouldn’t claim him. Truthfully he didn’t know what had made him claim Norman but it was too late to go back now. Another hand to make his life easier would sure be useful. It was good to be king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be written by LeggoxMyxGreggo. Let us know what you thought!


	2. Safety Net

"That was fucking stupid of 'im." Grady growls from his bunk and Boyd's so used to it he doesn't even look up from his book. He doesn't even have to make a sound before Grady is speaking again, "what fuckin' use could he have for the kid? Ain't worth starting a fight with Cross over. Shoulda jus' let 'im have 'im."

"He could have had you." That shuts Grady up and he's looking over the edge of the bunk to look down at him from his higher position.

"Say it again."

Boyd doesn't flinch at Grady's sharp tone. If anything the man appeared to shrink back as he looks up from his book. "The only thing that kept Cross off of you was me an' Don." It was telling that he called their leader by his name. They were close, had started this crew together and that reserved Boyd a few special rights like using Don's name and talking to him as an equal.

"That ain't the same."

"How? You'd been hot-headed and loud mouthed, we'd had no reason to grab you then, but now you're ours." Boyd frowns, not liking the way that Grady was talking down about the kid. It was about time they increased their size again and grabbing the scared new guys was the easiest. They needed the most protection and were more willing to do as they were told to get it, he didn't know what Don had planned for the kid but he was willing to trust his judgement.

"Still think it was fuckin' stupid starting a fight with Cross so soon. Mean...with that shit with Red." A quiet noise leaves Boyd at the mention of their missing member and he nods. That was the hostility then. Grady wasn't so bad, he was in for fighting, resisting arrest, things of that nature, was in more often than he was out of the system and seemed to not understand how to properly conduct himself around people. Boyd was sure that if it hadn't been for him and Don the man would have gotten a lot worse than a simple shank. The two youngest had been the closest to Red and he can see now how effected they were, Grady with his hostility and Gordo pulling into himself and going quiet.

Closing his book, Boyd sets it aside and lays back, putting his hands behind his head and looking up at Grady. "Ain't that bad. It sucks but we need a new man with Red gone. Sure, now we bad with Cross but really, when ain't we, Grady?" 

 

The sight of the kid trailing after Gordo to the table during breakfast was more than amusing. He appeared ruffled and the reason was made apparent as Gordo grabs the collar of the jumpsuit and roughly guided him to where he was to sit. Grady snickers, already standing to see what could be scrounged from the kids tray when he hears Don, 

"Leave him be."

Boyd watches as Grady turns, ready to argue until he saw that the man wasn't even looking at him though the words had obviously been directed at him. That was more than enough to start Grady's short temper. "The hell, Top?" Boyd can tell he's ready to smack the man or something, moving to do so until Boyd reaches up to give Grady's undershirt a sharp tug, not wanting the day to start with Don teaching one of their oldest members a lesson in front of the kid. "Sit down, Grady."

"Sit dow..-tch, sit down? I ain't gonna sit down. The fuck you mean 'leave 'im be', Top?" Lashing out, Grady tries to knock Boyd's hand off of the back of his clothes, eyes never leaving Don's face as he waits. He obviously changes his mind though as Don turns his cool gaze onto him before fixing Boyd with a sharp look. He knows what it means, had seen it enough. 'Control your dog'. A sound almost like a growl leaves Grady and he drops on to the bench with a grunt, snorting as the kid flinched. "Ain't fuckin' worth it."  
Don was done with Grady's attitude, Boyd could practically feel his bad mood rolling of of him. Releasing Grady's shirt, Boyd grabs his cup of lukewarm coffee and passes it to Don in the hopes he can diffuse the situation. "Coffee, Top." Years with the man has given Boyd an ability to read their leader and allowed him to see the minute change of a man ready to snap to the one they all knew, his shoulders and jaw were less tense but his eyes were no less sharp. Always on the lookout. It was the protective nature that had drawn Boyd to the older, he hadn't needed the protection (people tended to leave him well enough alone) but Grady needed more than he could provide with his violent and loud nature. Don settled with him well enough and begrudgingly took to Grady, and then Gordo, as well. The bible in his hand was soft and well worn, pages thin from his use as he pulls it out of his pocket to read over breakfast.

"What are you in for?" Boyd looks up at Norman, meeting his eyes over the table as Don questions him.

"Robbery, car jacking and resisting arrest." That seemed to silence Grady's angry grumbling and peeked everyone's interest.

"Would you like to fucking speak up? You're a fucking man right? Talk like one. So you're a thief and a coward. How long did they give you?" A small sound leaves Gordo, almost laugh like he was agreeing with what Don said.

"E-eight." Boyd holds up a hand, silencing the kid. These three would devour him alive if he continued to stutter like he did.

"Shut up. Take a breath, think 'bout what you're saying. Stop thinking about home, that ain't your life no more. Try again, how long you in for?" Boyd's calm words seemed to help even if he looked upset by what he'd said. The kid would get over it.

"Eight years." His voice still waivers but he doesn't stutter. It was an improvement.

A low whistle comes from Gordo and when Boyd looks between him and Grady, he could see them trade a look and he sighs. "Musta been a nice car or nice cars. Eight years. Would ya do it again?" Gordo's question catches Boyd's attention. The fact that Norman nods surprises a laugh from Grady and Gordo, even Boyd was impressed. "Maybe you do belong in 'ere then." The look that crosses Norman's face could only be described as shame before he shrugs.

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair once the conversation was over and Boyd's not surprised to be pulled aside by Don as they return their trays.

"The kitchen has an opening with Red gone, I want to talk to Jack about it staying until we can stick the kid in there-"

Before Don can really get to giving his commands, Boyd interrupts him. "That a good idea? He's twitchy as it is, doesn't have the same confidence as Red had to get shit in."

Don was cursing before he'd finished talking and was rubbing his face as he thought through the information he had forgotten before. "No choice, 'less Grady gets put in ISO again." Grady's hot temper and quick anger was something that easily pissed off not only other inmates but guards as well. Boyd doesn't think that Grady's ever done any time in jail without going to the isolation unit at least once, one memorable time they had actually extended his sentence to accommodate the action.

"Have Gordo train him up..." Boyd quiets as Don shakes his head and slips his hands into his pockets, thumb brushing the soft spine of his bible.

"Not Gordo. He's bringing in more than what Red had." Don's voice trails off as his eyes narrow behind Boyd and the he swears he can feel the sharp gaze that dug into his spine. Turning he catches sight of Cross' back in passing and sighs, knowing that he as well as the others were in the man's sights until he gets what he wants. "Keep him with you. Teach him how to check on our outside connections, get him in contact with your cousin." Boyd smooths his mustache and nods, sighing quietly.

"Yeah, alright. Talk to Jack, please." 

 

Norman was unsurprisingly quiet as they signed into the library, his reason of 'giving the boy a lesson in religion' more than enough to get the guard to let him sign them both in. "You religious?" Boyd listens for the quiet response, turning to look when it takes a moment.

"I'm baptized."

"Ain't what I asked. Even a liar can be baptized. You religious? Know the word of God?"

"Obviously not, I'm here aren't I?" That gives Boyd a pause and he hums, thinking about how best to approach the kid to get him to cooperate with the least threat.

"Boyd." It made sense, an olive branch to get the kid to see he ain't so bad.

"What?"

"My name is Boyd. Those fine men I associate with, they call me Bible. I know the book word for word." He settles in a chair as one of the small tables, motioning for Norman to take the one across from him. "'Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy'." He smiles a bit at the kid, seeing the way that he relaxed in front of him.

"So that's why we're here then? To actually talk about the bible?" Boyd could tell he was confused and he shakes his head.

"No." He doesn't tell him that he felt it was something the kid should think about tonight, something to soothe his mind. "We're talking about how you're earning your keep." Whatever relaxation he had earned previously was forsaken as Norman sits up, tense, and Boyd sighs quietly. "It's nothing dangerous." Yet. "We all have to work. Until you stop stuttering and making a good impression of a chihuahua, you'll work with me on communications." He hopes that whatever had caused Norman to get caught with enough robberies under his belt to get eight years doesn't catch up to them and bite their ass.


	3. Cross' Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, busy schedule took over for a little while. It's not a very long chapter but I hope you enjoy it.

There were many crews inside the prison, but none was quite as large as Cross and his gang. He was a very intimidating man and there were few that would challenge his claim when he took a new boy to become his. If the men in his gang weren’t monsters when he found them, that’s what they became. And they owned the place.

First there was the lowest on the ladder, Cigarette. If someone asked him he’d swear it was because he was a heavy smoker, but all the veterans knew it was because Cross had been calling him fag since the moment he stepped into the pod. He was a complete tool but another body shield if ever needed. Harry was the most diligent worker in the gang and got things done, which kept him alive. He’d made it abundantly clear how much of an arrogant bastard he could be and there were few people in the jail that didn’t hate his guts.

Next were the two twins that had come in together on charges of home invasion. Blondie was the more violent one, the one that repeatedly chose to solve problems with his aggression. Many people believed that his brother Renee was more of an unwilling accomplice, as he would do anything that Blondie said. Cross had made it quite clear when they were brought into his gang that he was the one in charge, though Blondie accepted it no one thought he was happy about it. The biggest member of Cross’ gang, and possibly the entire prison, was Tank. In six years Tank had only used violence once and it had ended with a crumpled mess of a human being. Since then no one had gotten hostile with Tank in the room because everyone feared the consequences too much.

The worst of all was Cross’ right hand man, Crazy Charlie. Crazy Charlie was known by everyone as the most psychotic of all the prisoners and possibly more feared than Cross himself. He’d been convicted for rape, murder, assault, and arson, all in one day. On his head was a glued together wig of human hair that he used to pretend he was a woman, even though he had a bushy beard. Whenever he spoke it was in an unsettling feminine voice that haunted people in their nightmares. Several fights had resulted in him biting chunks out of his opponents and proceeding to force himself into their pants. Wherever Cross went, Charlie was never far behind.

It just so happened that Cross was in the laundry room that day with Tank and Charlie. One of their responsibilities was washing all of the dirty clothes that the prison accumulated. But they weren’t alone, Old Man Waggoner and Binkowski had also been assigned laundry duty. So Cross decided that he’d attempt to start up a conversation with a fellow gang leader about this and that.

“Morning, Waggoner,” he said, folding a jumpsuit.

“Not in the mood for pleasantries, Cross.” Waggoner was much too intelligent to be manipulated by the psychopath’s tricks. It was one of the things Cross both respected and hated about the man.

“Then let me get right to the point. Don’s a problem. We need to get rid of him.”

“You’re full of shit!” interjected Binkowski, though he silenced himself when Waggoner gave him a look.

“You start speaking to my darling like that and we’re going to have a problem,” Charlie stated coldly, even with his feminine tone sounding very intimidating. “I can have a lot of fun with that pretty little face.”

“Control your psycho,” demanded Waggoner. “You know I have no desire to get involved in your conflict with Don. My crew is neutral.”

“Your man right there doesn’t sound very neutral to me.”

“My boy is no concern of yours, he’ll be dealt with. Why should I give a shit because you’re afraid of Don?”

“I’m afraid of nothing,” hissed Cross. “He can’t be trusted. He manipulates people into doing what he wants. I get that I’m an asshole, but you know what you’re getting with me. If everyone here keeps letting him get what he wants he’s going to get too much control.”

“Don’s never caused trouble with me before. You want him gone so badly, figure it out yourself.”

“Suit yourself. You’re making a big mistake.” Waggoner escorted Binkowski out of the laundry room, giving him a smack on the way out. There’d be a beating for him later, but he wouldn’t betray Don. Especially not for Cross.

“What do we do now boss?” inquired Tank. “Should we take care of Waggoner’s crew?”

“Not yet. Don is our first priority. It’s all about patience, friends. There are five men in his crew and there’s always an angle to exploit somewhere. I’ve got a plan.”

As it happened, Cross was a master of manipulation himself. He wouldn’t leave his plan against Don up to whether or not Waggoner had a set of balls. His plan would be left up to a certain prison guard by the name of Patrice Middleton. Throughout his time in the prison, he’d accumulated a stack of favors from her and now she was in his pocket. She didn’t seem to mind, considering she took pleasure in the power that she possessed both inside and outside the penitentiary.

“What have you got for me?” she questioned when he arrived at their meeting.

“Make sure we get our nighttime supply on time this week.” One of the many things Middleton did for him was ensuring a guard would bring his crew a nighttime meal to keep them stronger than all the other prisoners.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“I need a favor from you as a matter of fact. When you’re on the outside, have my contacts do a bit of research for me. Don Collier. Boyd Swan. Trini Garcia. Grady Travis. And the new kid, Norman Ellison.”

“You’re a smart son of a bitch, Cross. I like it.” A sly smirk appeared on Cross’ lips. It was all about patience.


End file.
